


asleep, awake, i am yours

by StarksInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow is King in the North, Only One Bed, Sansa Stark is Lady of Winterfell, ambiguous timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: The King in the North and Lady of Winterfell are separated from their party on the journey to White Harbor in the middle of a snowstorm. They find shelter in an inn with only one bed.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 132





	asleep, awake, i am yours

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted and edited from 2016.

Blistering winter winds push against Sansa's ruddy, chapped cheeks and icy eyelashes. She pulls her heavy fur hood closer against her ears and urges her mare to stop beneath a skeletal tree. Her traveling companion brings his horse to pause besides her.

Shivers run up her horse’s back and it whinnies with the desire to press on. Sansa calls out above the roaring winds, ”Jon, we need to stop soon." 

Jon glances at her with a solemn frown, his face red from the cold. "We can make it. It's not that cold."

"It's almost dark and the horses are exhausted.” She rebuttals. They've already spent the better part of the day separated from the rest of their party in this weather. It will not due to be separated from each other. "We're still miles away from White Harbor. There should be a way house not too far ahead.“

The snow settles on Jon’s steed and his shoulders, white speckles against the stark black of one’s shinning hair and the other’s dour clothing. Jon searches her face with his soft grey eyes and settles on the bright blue staring back. "Are you sure?"

Sansa nods and points ahead. "I saw smoke rising before the sky got too clouded. We must be close."

"Fine. But we're leaving first thing in the morning." Jon nudges his horse forward into what is supposed to be a trot, but the snow is thick around its legs and it is more of a push to clear the way.

Their travels is slow and boring, the winds too loud and cold for them to chat as they so often do. Even if they could, its best that they do not. They make tired progress, keeping careful eyes on the path before them so that they can guide their mouths away from dangers in the roads that could trip them or hurt them.

Sansa’s instincts prove true eventually as a small grey building appears through the snowy mist ahead of them. By the time they arrive at the inn, the night has settled for true, so dark and thick they can barely see each other. They stumble into the inn's stable, the snow swirling as they enter and give their mounts over to the charge of the inn's stable boy. 

Jon passes the youth an extra silver stag and makes him promise to care for them well, clean their hooves, and to give the horses extra oats for their troubles that day. He pats his gelding along the neck and gives sweet words of praises and an apple before offering one for Sansa’s horse as well. The mare takes it from her ungloved hand with quick, wet bites. Sansa smooths back the horse’s mane before making to leave the stables.

Sansa tosses her saddle bags across her shoulder; Jon does the same. They must keep their hands on the building’s brick wall so they don't get lost in the thick drifting snow between the stable and inn. When Sansa stumbles over a log buried in a snow bank, Jon's hand reaches out to keep her from falling. He doesn't let go again.

They push into the building, finally away from the storming weather outside. The heat of the great hearth fire is exhilarating as it warms Sansa to the bones, covering her in sweet heat that melts the snowflakes in her hair.

Sansa wants to stop and dry her hands besides the fire, but Jon pulls her along to the tavern's bar. A middle-aged woman stands behind it, cleaning dirty glasses with a clean, soapy rag. Without introduction, Jon asks, "Can we have two rooms, please?"

"We're filled to the brim today. There's only the last empty one." She says, not reacting as their faces fall. She turns to set aside the glass in her hand.

Jon sighs. “We'll make due, then."

She waits a few minutes, washing the last of her glasses, before telling Jon the price. After Jon has placed the right number of coins on the counter, the tavern keep takes an iron key from her belt and passes it to Jon. “Last room at the top of the stairs."

They trudge up three flights of stairs and finally enter into a small, cozy room with just a hearth, a chair, and the bed, piled in thick quilts and heavy furs. Jon sets about lighting the fire to bring more warmth to the space, although even just being inside these walls is enough for Sansa. She sets their bags on the bed and takes a moment to admire the stitching of the top quilt, embroidered with Northern symbols: wolves and weirwoods and snowflakes and even a merman for the Manderlys. Eventually, she pulls herself away from the lovely sewing patterns and pulls out Jon’s camp kettle and a small packet of tea.

"Do you think she knows she was serving the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell?" Jon jokes as he tosses the last log on the fire. Sansa laughs merrily at what the woman’s face would have been if she had realized. She tosses a look over her shoulder at him, and he shrugs. “I didn't want to cause a scene."

"I'm sure saying that would have gotten us that second room." Sansa points out, unclasping her cloak and shaking it out. She drapes it over the single chair in the room, cloth facing the fire so the wet fabric and fur can begin to dry.

"At the expense of some other poor soul's accommodations." Jon shrugs. "As I told her, we'll make due. I can sleep on the floor."

"Jon, that's ridiculous." Sansa rolls her eyes, then turns back to the bed. Their canteens have a little water left in them, and she pours it into the kettle before handing Jon the fire stakes.

He keeps talking as he sets the stakes over the fire and hangs the kettle from it. “Then what do you propose? It wouldn't due to have the lady sleep on the rushes, and I'm sure your father would have my head for that."

"The bed's big enough - we can just share." Jon's face is horror stricken as Sansa settles on the far side of the bed. "It's better to keep the warmth in, anyway."

“ _You’re_ suggesting we share a bed?” Jon melodramatically gasps, and his uncharacteristic reaction sends Sansa into a fit of giggles. “What have you done with my cousin?”

“Who cares about propriety when its this cold?” Sansa says. “I’d rather be crowded and warm than lonely and cold.”

With their accommodations agreed upon, the two wait for the tea to boil. Sansa goes downstairs to fills their canteens for the road in the morning and request two hot meals. When she returns to their room, Jon has made two cups of tea and presses one gently into her hands. They sit on the rug with their toes near the fire to keep warm, chatting about their expectations of their upcoming meeting in White Harbor. Eventually, a young girl comes to deliver a tray of warm leek soup and fresh baked bread. Jon and Sansa eat ravenously before finally preparing for bed.

Sansa had thought the issue settled, but Jon is less sure.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to sleep on the floor? I’d be besides the fire, so I wouldn’t be cold.”

Sansa tosses a pillow at his head and throws back the she sheets. “If you want to be uncomfortable, be my guest. I’m tired, so I’m going to bed!”

She slips under the covers and snuggles into the welcome warmth of the bed. Hesitantly, Jon removes his shoes and sits on the bed. Sansa is halfway asleep by the time he finally gets under the sheets and closes his eyes. 

Sansa startles awake a few hours into the night as a warm quilt rips off her body. The light from the hearth is dimmed, glowing orange embers against the grey stone beneath. And at her side, Jon is wrapped up, swaddled like a newborn, in all the blankets that had been piled high upon the bed.

"Jon!" Sansa grumbles and kicks him. She takes a blanket from on top of him, trying to cover herself. It is barely a minute before the sleeping man reaches over and yanks the blankets back to him. Jon pulls it against his body and snuggles it around himself.

"' _It's not that cold_!'" She mocks his earlier words, waking more than she had before. Sansa makes a face, swearing to never let Jon hear the end of this. She tries to take a quilt from the Jon-wrap again, just for him to steak it back within the instant.

Sansa sighs. There seems to be no easy way to get warm again. The cold of the room has come more now that the fire is so low and what warmth she has seeps away every second she is without a covering. She studies Jon’s contentedly sleeping form, thinking a hundred different ways she could convince Arya to help her prank him when they are back in Winterfell.

Finally, an idea comes. In one quick motion, Sansa snatches the blankets up and snuggles underneath. When Jon goes to readjust the covers and secure himself in his wrap, he pulls back in the blankets that she has removed to get besides him -

And pulls her back in as well.

Jon murmurs sleepily and nuzzles himself against her thick mass of red-copper braids. Sansa sighs contentedly and pushes herself next to his form. Sleeping close is just another way to conserve body heat, she reminds herself.That does not suppress her gasp when she discovers that Jon removed his shirt before coming to bed.

His skin is warm against her own, almost like it pulses heat. He pulls away after a moment, not directly in contact with her anymore, but even then she still feels it. Their touch is minimal, his chest pressing to the neckline of her shift, but it is comforting. She wonders, for a moment, if he is always like this, if it is a Targaryen trait, and then gives up thinking for the land of the sleeping.

She wakes with Jon's arm draped across her body and a warm thrum in her core. There is a kindness to this strange touch, something she is not used to from the nights she has shared a bed. With Jeyne Poole, it was just a thing of friendship, when they sat up giggling and gossiping into the night. Lord Tyrion was, well, Tyrion, and she would rather not revisit her memories of Ramsay. Instead, she focuses on the comfort of Jon, and the feel of a strong arm against her body. She enjoys being held, she thinks, because it reminds her of a simpler time with mother and father and all the people they have lost. Sansa flutters her eyes shut and rests her head back against the sinewy muscle of his shoulder, allowing herself to find comfort in Jon.

He wakes, suddenly, a moment later. She feels him stirring, but doesn't move herself. This is too nice, too relaxing, to care. Jon's arm tightens around her torso, and then he is stroking her braids. He pushes her hair away from his body and over her shoulder, then caresses the side of her arm with gentle, light strokes. When he settles his arm back against her body, Sansa rolls over slowly with a wicked grin on her lips.

"Good morning Jon.”

Jon is a child again, caught stealing a lemoncake from the kitchen. "Uh, well, yes - "

His cheeks redden, not from cold but from embarrassment. Jon clears his throat. “Sansa. Yes, good morning. How did we end up like this?”

"You stole all the blankets and I was cold." Mischievousness glimmers in her eyes as she presses a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. “Apparently it was colder than you thought.”

“My apologies, it was incredibly - ”

“Incredibly kind to keep me warm.” She laughs a little at how suddenly flustered she has made her king. “But if you insist on apologies, you can go get breakfast from downstairs before we go. I'm still too cold."

Jon groans and tosses back his head. “Must I? It’s still freezing!”

“You said yourself it’s not that cold.” Sansa cannot keep her fits of laughter away. Jon rises, confronting the chilly room with a sullen pout. Sansa appreciates the view of his chest and back as he looks around for wherever he put his shirt.

He catches her stare with a raised eyebrow. “Do you like what you see?”

“Well . . .” Sansa says in a sing-songy voice. “I think I’d appreciate eggs and toast and bacon more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


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